


the thanks you get

by beenana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Argent To The Rescue!!!, Blood and Injury, Families of Choice, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hunters, Hurt Scott, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenana/pseuds/beenana
Summary: “This is the kind of thanks you get,” Chris seethes through his teeth as he finally pulls the last bullet out and throws it angrily on the ground.  Scott’s head thunks back against the hard-packed dirt and he lies there, panting for breath.  “You protect these people for years and the first opportunity they get, they try to kill you.”To Chris’ surprise, Scott just snorts a weak laugh.  “It’s not exactly new,” he points out and it may be true, but Chris is still pissed off.Chris does what he has to to protect Scott.





	the thanks you get

**Author's Note:**

> heed the warnings. there is non/con in here but it's only about a paragraph. then there's some discussion of it later, but it's not graphic. stay safe, babes.
> 
> i don't own teen wolf

This would have been so much easier five years ago.

Five years ago Chris would have filled the dingy room with gunshots and smoke and flashing lights and been on his way.  Five years ago he would have left Scott McCall for dead.  But that was then and this is now and he can’t do that.  He doesn’t _want_ to do that. 

The hunters have Scott doped up on wolfsbane, chained to a metal support beam in the middle of the basement, his head lolling back and forth as he tries to stay awake.  He’s fighting a losing battle and every time he blinks, his eyes stay closed longer than the time before.  Eventually they don’t open again.

“You’re killing him,” Chris says, very carefully keeping his voice steady and in control despite the way he wants to punch something or kill someone or scream.  “He’s worth nothing to you dead.”

“One less fucking animal to deal with,” one of the hunters says casually, raising his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug.  Chris recognizes him – not even two years and thousands of miles could erase Monroe’s minions from his mind.  “I’d say that’s worth plenty, don’t you?”

It’s all Chris can do not to take his gun from its holster.  As it is, the only thing that keeps him calmly rooted to the spot is the knowledge that one wrong move will get Scott killed and that’s the last thing Chris wants.  He’s come too far to screw this up now. 

“If you get rid of Scott McCall, you put Beacon Hills in danger,” Chris says, eyes flicking worriedly over to the tied-up boy.  Because that’s what he is – just a _boy_ – and he’s _dying_.  “You put _yourselves_ in danger.  Because when pure evil comes to town, Scott’s the only one that stands between us and it.”  Chris’ nostrils flare in anger and he takes a step closer.  “You ever heard of a kanima?”

The hunter’s silence is answer enough.

“How about a nogitsune?”

No answer.

“Berserkers?  Wendigos?  The Darach?  You haven’t, have you?”  When the hunter still stays quiet, Chris crosses his arms across his chest, satisfied and very, very angry.  “Well, Scott’s protected you from all that and more without asking for anything in return, so the least you can do is let him go.  Let me take him and get him better so he can go back to saving our sorry asses from whatever godforsaken creature is going to attack next.  Because, believe me…they’re always coming.”

Another hunter, this one a woman, steps out of the shadows with an assault rifle dangling nonchalantly from her shoulder.  “What a touching speech,” she sneers, mockingly clapping her hands together a couple times.  “But we have an alpha – a _true_ alpha – right here in the palm of our hands and you think we’re just gonna…what?  _Let him go_?  Surely you can’t be serious?”

“How about a trade?” Chris tries, hearing the desperation creeping into his voice and hating it.  Even from where he’s standing he can tell that Scott’s breathing is getting slower and shallower – it’s enough to keep an alpha alive, but not for much longer.  He needs to hurry this along before the kid dies before his very eyes.

Oh god, what’s he going to tell Melissa?  What’s he going to tell _Stiles_?  And Malia and Stilinski and Kira and Lydia and Derek and – oh god – _Liam_?

This can’t happen.  The world needs Scott, but _they_ need Scott even more.

Which is why he steps even closer, his hands outstretched palms-up like he’s begging, and adds, “I’ll give you anything.”

The woman rolls her eyes.  “What could you possibly have to trade?  Thanks to your dad – may the old bastard rest in peace – we have all the weapons and access to information we could ever want.  You have nothing of value.”  She wrinkles her nose.  “You’re worthless just like the animals you love so much.”

The thing is…she’s right.  She’s right and Chris _knows_ she’s right, but before he can do something stupid like race to Scott’s side and get them both murdered in a spray of bullets, the man speaks up.  “I can think of one thing,” he says, his voice as cold as the steel in his hands.  It sends a shiver down Chris’ spine.

“Name it,” Chris says, turning to the hunter with a confidence he doesn’t actually feel.  “And quickly, if you could.”

The man just grins evilly, his eyes trailing down Chris’ body in a way that makes him feel like he’s on display.  He fights the urge to curl into himself, to make himself smaller.  “I want to see a traitor laid low,” the man says decisively.  Then he smirks.  “Or at least laid _out_.”

Then, like he has all the time in the world, he strolls across the floor and tugs at Chris’ belt like he’s daring him to do something about it.

Chris wants to back away, wants to punch the guy in the face and shout every curse in the book, but Scott gasps from across the room and starts choking on his breaths and Chris knows he has to do it.  Scott _can’t_ die…Chris won’t be able to live with himself. 

So he grits out a _fine_ through clenched teeth and tries not to flinch when the man grabs him roughly by the shoulders and bends him over the sturdy, unfinished table that’s scattered with weapons of all shapes and sizes.  There’s a box of bullets barely an inch from his face stamped with the Argent logo and it’s…too much.  He squeezes his eyes shut.

The man is quick and efficient and nowhere near as cruel as Chris thought he would be.  He even opens him up with lube, not pushing inside until Chris snaps that he should get on with it.  Chris isn’t as prepped as he should be, but every second is crucial to Scott’s survival, so he just bites down on his fist as shocks of agonizing pain shoot up his body with every thrust.  He manages to keep almost silent, holding still and rigid until the man comes and pulls back out, but he can’t help the shout of agony when he feels a knife blade drag across the back of his neck.  Then there’s a second one and the man steps back to admire his handiwork. 

“Something to remember me by,” he says and Chris doesn’t answer.  He just pulls his pants back up and sprints across the room to Scott’s quivering body, ignoring the sticky wetness he can feel dripping down the back of his thighs.

Luckily, Scott’s head is hanging downwards because as Chris works the chains off of his wrists, he starts throwing up black blood.  It smells like death.  “I’m gonna get you out of here,” Chris promises quietly even though he knows Scott can’t hear him.  “You’re gonna be okay, Scott.”

Miracle of all miracles, the hunters keep their word and don’t try to stop him as he scoops Scott up into his arms and races through the basement to go crashing through the back door out into the chilly autumn night.  Scott is dead weight, his limbs flopping uselessly as Chris tries to put as much distance between them and the old abandoned warehouse as he can.  He doesn’t stop until Scott vomits again, laying him down on the ground and turning him on his side so he doesn’t choke on it.

He pulls out his lighter.

“This is gonna hurt, kid,” Chris says and then he’s lighting Scott on fire in six different places.  They’ve absolutely _riddled_ him with bullets.

Scott doesn’t wake up until the fourth one, eyes going blood red as he roars loud enough to wake the dead.  His first instinct is to slash at Chris, fangs bared in a mixture of fury and pain, but he’s weak and Chris dodges him easily, nearly climbing on top of Scott to hold him down.  The fire does its work slowly and painfully and soon enough Scott is falling back onto the forest floor and panting for air.

“What’s going on?” he asks, almost a whimper, and Chris doesn’t answer.  He just starts digging the bullets out.

It’s slow going – the hunters used silver-inlaid ammo like superstitious old housewives, so they’ve broken apart beneath Scott’s skin.  For the most part Scott’s able to stay in control, but when Chris has to literally go fishing around in his wounds, he flinches hard and growls under his breath.  Chris winces.  “Sorry,” he mutters.  “Almost done.”

“It’s okay,” Scott wheezes because of course he does.  Chris doesn’t know when he started seeing these kids, seeing _Scott_ , as some kind of pseudo offspring, but at that moment he’s desperately sad.  Scott deserves so much better.  _Nothing_ about this is okay.

“This is the kind of thanks you get,” Chris seethes through his teeth as he finally pulls the last bullet out and throws it angrily on the ground.  Scott’s head thunks back against the hard-packed dirt and he lies there, panting for breath.  “You protect these people for _years_ and the first opportunity they get, they try to kill you.”

To Chris’ surprise, Scott just snorts a weak laugh.  “It’s not exactly new,” he points out and it may be true, but Chris is still pissed off.  “There’s always some monster of the week…it just sucks when that monster is very much human.”

And Chris should feel guilty, maybe, because he used to be one of those humans.  He used to be a _hunter_.  He used to threaten Scott’s life like it was his job.  But he didn’t stay there – when he realized how much the world needed Scott McCall he put the gun down and decided to fight _with_ him instead of against him.  He’s lucky Scott doesn’t hold grudges.

Scott’s always been more than any of them deserve.

“Think you can stand?” Chris asks, changing the subject.  The last thing this kid needs to dwell on is the absolute shit pile of his life.  That’d be enough to get even a true alpha down.  “If not, I can help you.”

Scott pulls himself sluggishly to his hands and knees and then forces himself to a standing position.  “I think I’m okay,” he gasps, still weak.  “Let’s just get out of here.”

So they walk together for miles, only pausing when Scott’s knees buckle and once for him to duck behind a tree and relieve himself – _jeez,_ _how long did they have me tied up for?_ – cutting through the thick forest until they reach the main road.  It’s abandoned this late at night and it’s a relief.  One less thing to worry about.

With the moon overhead and nearly full, Scott’s senses come back online and he whips his head around to look at Chris with wide, concerned eyes.  “You smell like blood,” he exclaims and it’s all Chris can do not to flinch or shy away.  Because if Scott can smell the blood, that means he can also smell— “And sex.”  Scott is panicking.  “Why do you smell like sex?”

There’s no use lying to him – he’d be able to hear it anyway.  “It was a trade,” Chris sighs out, suddenly exhausted.  He can still feel the come on his legs, now dry and starting to itch.  He doesn’t want to have this conversation.  _Ever_.  He just wants to trap it in the dark recesses of his brain and leave it there to rot.  “It was the only way to save you.”

Scott is absolutely _horrified_.  “Argent, no!” he chokes out, turning to grab Chris by the shoulders.  There are tears in his eyes.  “No!  Why would you do that?  Why would you—surely there was some other way!”

“You were dying,” Chris snaps, but he’s not actually angry.  He’s a fucking grown up and he’s allowed to pick and choose what sacrifices he makes to save kids, especially _his_ kids.  And letting some stranger bend him over a table isn’t even close to as far as Chris would go to ensure the safety of the only guy that can truly protect Beacon Hills.  “There was no time to make a different plan.  You get that, don’t you?  I was watching the life get sapped straight out of you, Scott!”

Scott doesn’t answer, just scrubs angrily at the tears on his face.  He’s breaking down and it’s awful.

Chris lowers his voice to a whisper.  “I’m not pretending like everything is fine, alright?  I _know_ it’s not okay.  But it _is_ what had to happen,” he says firmly.  “And I don’t want you to think about it anymore.  I want you to forget about it and I want you to go home to your mom and your girlfriend and your Stiles and your pack and I want you to live, Scott.”  He swallows hard.  “I want you to _live_.”

When Scott speaks, his voice is thick with tears and there’s spit clinging to his lips.  “I won’t forget about it,” he says stubbornly, swiping a hand across his runny nose.  “But I know you did what you thought was right.”

Then he falls into Chris’ arms like a small child and buries his face in Chris’ neck, his shoulders shaking.

It’s probably a bit of a miracle that Chris has spent five years watching Scott repeatedly lose more than any teenager ever should, and yet this is the first time he’s ever seen the kid cry.  It sends a bullet of burning-hot sympathy shooting through his heart and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s wrapping his arms around him like some sort of protective barrier.  Scott shudders.

He pulls himself together impressively quickly, stepping back after about thirty seconds to give Chris a sheepish smile.  “Come home,” he murmurs and Chris’ heart flips in his chest.  _Home_.  “With me.  It’ll be okay.”

“Scott—”

“ _Come home_.”

For the first time in his life, Chris decides to do as he’s told.

The shower at the McCall house is warm and comforting, beating down on his head and washing away the pain and the fear of the past few hours.  When he passes Scott’s bedroom on his way down the hall, he sees that the kid’s not alone.  Malia and Stiles are there too, dressed in a strange assortment of Scott’s sleep clothes and clearly planning to say the night.  It makes him smile.  He has no idea what kind of arrangement they’ve got going on, he’s just glad Scott doesn’t have to go through this life by himself.  There are so many people who love him.

Scott nods at him as he walks past.

When Chris pushes his way into the master bedroom at the end of the hall, Melissa is asleep already.  But the right side of the bed is free, just like it has been for the past year or so.  They’ve always been tentative – unsurprisingly, a man who watched both his wife and daughter die in front of him and a woman who used to be married to an abusive drunk tend to have quite a bit of baggage – but that’s one thing that’s never changed.  The right side of the bed is always open.

So he slides beneath the covers and lets her deep, even breaths lull him to sleep.


End file.
